Antiques

When i first had the idea of sending little wrapped-up christmas gifts to mizpah, i did not think of much except to make them happy, and naturally a happy self; all in the spirit of christmas, whatever spirits there might be.But as i went around scouting for cheap toe socks, i start to sulk a little.It just wasnt the sock's season and thus no bloomy offers for such funky stuff anymore; i ended up buying socks from the shop i eyed on on day one! How exasperating.

No, it wasnt because i'm starting to feel the pinch in my pockets; nor was it due to the fact that i had spend days boring tru the packed-up shops with legs as heavy as lead. I just thought it may look quite stupid and naive that we're spending and giving em all these fancy stuff, where it might have been more practical remitting the money over. It's how we used to save all our pennies just to buy this nice cute ornament as birthday gifts for our frens. Could it have been wiser if everyone just hands our hard cash as prezzies?

This is not about life. It's about principles.
How are we to justify the money that what we spent is what the children had wished for? How am i to justify my need to offer them a special christmas?

I remembered i once said, during a post-expedition group reflection, that one of my greatest fear is that Mizpah 2004 would become just a definite passion; that it would soon leave us feeling only a tinge of warmth in our hearts as we recall; that we had done something what our heart purports to be great and generous; to build just that wall in the big open field.And as i laid my thoughts out verbally, it seemingly becomes a promise i made unto myself. I fought against breaking that promise---witholding myself from one of my greatest fear, by reminding myself of them in prayers, inspirations and other things.

I also remembered thinking to myself at the doors of mizpah, that i would not miss them as much as before. But that dont mean i adore them less. It is a strange kind of feeling that i STILL cannot put to words.
It's like reading a book you found to really love. It touches your heart and changes your mind--- a constant reminder that you are and should no longer be who u used to be. After the 2nd time you had finished w the book, you place it back on the shelves--together with all your prized possessions. You don't yearn to read again like before.Although you could have known the plot of that book inside out; know what revelations it had given you, you'd never throw it away.
Cos you somehow know that you'd read it again in the future, and by then, it'd give a different meaning to you.
Totally new, and totally bedaffle you.

Old things aren't always useless.